Shrya and Ji'or
by Gleesh
Summary: A scant one-hundred years after the Dragon Age, the Glass Age has begun and it has thus far been prosperous. The Wardens have re-built, but there are whispers of increased darkspawn activity throughout the land. This is a side story for those Wardens.
1. Chapter 1 rough

She had been tracking this particular party of darkspawn scouts for two days now. Her training had kept her going through the worst times of sleep deprivation, and when she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, she injected herself with stimulants. She'd never injected so much before, but this mission was vital. Lines of needle pricks ran up and down her right arm. It was a small price to pay in order to deliver the information that the other Grey Wardens would need. Knowing this land like she did, she had been the natural choice to do the scouting.

Shrya was Chasind. She was raised exclusively in the deepest most uncivilized parts of Ferelden. The story of her recruitment was a complicated one. In short, she was discovered by Grey Wardens scouting for rumors of increased darkspawn activity in the Wilds. A few Dalish had captured her and tied her to a tree, leaving her to her fate at the hands of the wilderness creatures and the darkspawn. She'd already been tied there for four days without food and had been drinking of the rain and scarce dewdrops. She'd heard plenty of wild creatures, but none had gotten close enough to sense her presence and investigate. Lucky for her, the Dalish who captured her hadn't anticipated that they'd put her on a path not frequented by any animals. Idiots.

But when the Wardens had come by, her olive skin managed to turn pale. All her training fled her mind as she stared at the men who were surprised to see her tied there on the tree. She knew stories of these men, and what they did. However, she also knew that they treated the Chasind as though they were barbarians – she doubted they'd ever been told anything different. Try as she might, she couldn't think of any words in their tongue. She had learned a few as a child from her tribe's shaman but those lessons had been years ago. To a scared seventeen year old Chasind Ithari, they were impractical.

Evidently the look on her face told the Wardens all they needed to know. Rastel, in the coming year after her Joining with the Grey Wardens, confessed that they were unsure if Shrya would be able to handle the rigors of the Ritual. Finding a young Chasind girl tied to a tree, freeing her, and decided that she would be put to the Ritual based upon her fortitude in surviving days tied out alone in the Wilds and because of her knowledge of the Chasind tribes. Both of these attributes could be fortuitous for them, but making a Chasind woman a Warden was a sketchy decision. Rastel at that time was not yet second-in-command, so his opinions held little weight amongst the Amaranthine Wardens, but he'd managed to convince them to try her. If she passed, they would gain a valuable asset. If she perished, they would only lose a Chasind barbarian who would have probably died in the woods anyway.

To this day she was grateful for his words in her favor. He'd even helped to teach her the Common Tongue so she could communicate with more than hand gestures. It was his face she saw now as she dug through her field pack to find another stimulant to inject. He had been the one to see to her supplies before she left, and he had knowingly added several more injectors than she was strictly allowed to take. Rastel was always looking out for his Wardens. Though, Shrya liked to think that in some small way, perhaps she was special, even just a little bit. As she shoved the needle into her arm and felt the rush of Lyrium mixed with…something else…rushing through her veins, she knew that he intended her to fulfill her duty there no matter what.

Shrya watched as the darkspawn scouts paused. She was hidden well enough in the treetops to avoid their gaze, and she had the dark hair and olive skin of her people which hid her easily amongst the shadows there. Also, she'd taken the precaution to wear only enough clothing for modesty. She decided upon wearing a chest-band that wrapped around her neck and tied at the back, and a pair of leggings that she'd cut off at the thigh and sewn flaps on the front and back of, creating the illusion of a shortened skirt. As for shoes, she rarely wore them. Instead she preferred the leather straps the Itheri wrapped around the balls and heels of their feet, giving them necessary traction. The minimal amount of clothing eliminated the possibility of noisy metal armor giving her away, and the lack of dyes and detergent smells usually on normal clothes didn't alert the darkspawn senses either. The only thing that may cause them to take notice of her would be the fact that she bore their taint. She dearly hoped that they were too weak to sense it and, should they be able to, they would not see her physical form.

She hoped the darkspawn were that unintelligent. Her whole mission rested upon it.

She saw, suddenly, why they had paused. There in the clearing was a dying man, left destitute and injured by Wilder bandits. She did not even consider that the Chasind would do something like this. Usually, they would kill the man and perhaps take his body back to their tribe to be eaten. Cannibals. Her tribe was not full of cannibals. Some were, she knew, but the Itheri had too much pride to eat another living being. All Itheri were strict vegetarians. She watched as the man clawed to get away from the darkspawn coming towards him. Even if she could save him at this point, she wouldn't. This man was foolish for coming into the Wilds so unarmed. One human against Chasind tribes, wild animals, and darkspawn? It was not a risk any decent-thinking being would take. In her eyes, he deserved his fate for his lack of intelligence.

Still, nothing prepared her for the sight of the darkspawn ripping his living body apart. Blood flew as his screams shook the forest and tore through her heart. She was still a woman, and the sound of suffering incited her pity at that moment. Thankfully, the stimulants put a quick end to that emotion. Her body surged with energy and she carefully made her way over to a tree nearer to the clearing in which the man was now being consumed.

A great feral howl rendered all – human and darkspawn alike – immobile. Shrya didn't dare turn lest she see the Archdemon itself. This was [i]not[/i] what she'd come here searching for. But luckily, the sound was simply a summons from the main part of the darkspawn scouts' contingent. She could sense their bulk just over the next hillock, and could feel them moving away from her – deeper into the Wilds. The scouts looked at each other as they uttered guttural sounds which may have been the darkspawn equivalent of curses. When they finally left, trotting through the trees to meet their summoner, Shrya sensed that it was safe to move from her position and take a closer look at the disgusting scene below her.

The man was human alright, and Ferelden. He bore the mark of one of the cities, but she couldn't quite place it. He was a trader, as was evident from his broken down dray and the scattered remains of broken up crates. She suspected this was what attracted his initial bandits. His body was ravaged, naturally, but something was odd about it. The Darkspawn hadn't eaten of his flesh after they'd torn him limb from limb, they'd only taken the blood. His body showed several bite marks where they'd sucked from the arteries. Each part was only a husk of what it had been. This she recorded in her field-journal to return to Rastel. He'd want to research this more carefully.

After tucking her notes away into her bag, she looked to see if there was anything of importance still left around the wagon or on the man's body. When she found nothing she would need – or that looked like something she could sell for a little extra coin in her pocket – she turned to head back into the forest and find that darkspawn contingent her scouts had left to rejoin.

The sudden familiar sting in her shoulder was her first indication that she'd been not paying as close attention to her surroundings as she should. Her senses were peaked for darkspawn, not Chasind. There they were, peaking out at her from behind trees. One had raised a blowpipe at her, and that was presumably what had caused the sudden blossoming of fire-heat in her shoulder. She looked, expecting to see flames, but only a small feathered projectile stuck there.

As the world began to swim around her, she tried to use her mind and the power the Wardens had at the time of their deaths. She could send her own power flooding through their veins, and they would know what happened. That is how all Grey Wardens knew of another's passing. She tried, but knew she failed at it as soon as her attempt started.

Darkened faces appeared before her, whispering in a tongue she hadn't heard for so very long. The darkness spread, and she knew nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2 rough

Waking was like being born again. Shrya's head pounded in protest, but her body demanded she sit up. She felt as though she'd been lying for…days? Had she really been here for days or were her senses still addled from whatever poison was in the dart? She was subtly grateful she wasn't dead, but part of her wondered what kind of honor the Wardens would have given her once they knew.

A movement in the corner of the tent she'd woken up in gave away the fact that she wasn't alone. Immediately, she dropped to a crouch, grabbing at her belt for the small belt-blade she kept there. But it was gone, and she was naked. The embarrassing reality consumed her and she scrabbled for the blankets she'd discarded. The smooth chuckle from the darkened corner infuriated her instantly.

"Who are you?" She demanded in an authoritative voice. She noted that it sounded dry and crackly. "Do you know that I am a Grey Warden?" As she progressed through the traditional 'I'm a Warden, stand aside' speech, she found her usually hard voice returning to her. Her confidence improved and she straightened her shoulders.

"_Hm. I know you, heemkaal, but you do not know us. This one knows what it is I speak, yes?"_

It was a female voice, by the sound of it, imbued with power. She was speaking in one of the Chasind tongues. It was different than the Ithari's but still similar enough so that she could make out the words. _"I know what you speak. Which tribe are you?"_

"_We are the Suranital. Brothers, for a time, of Ithari. You are heemkaal now, why?"_

"_I was…my story is not important!"_

"_Ithari has lost manners, or else this one is lost to Ithari. I ask, so I know what to tell my watchers. Shall I let them kill you as pleases them?"_

Shrya sighed. It seemed as though her status as Warden meant nothing this far into the Wilds – she had hoped they at least knew of the Warden's legend and power. What was there now but to attempt to make whatever peace they would accept and be on her way? The longer she waited, the farther away her darkspawn unit would be._ "I am no longer Ithari. I am called a Grey Warden. They are an order of people who fight against darkspawn. I was recruited for them after being rescued by them."_

The old woman came forward out of the shadows and Shrya could see her face. It was painted with lines of power, each swirl and stripe meaning a different thing. Some were the symbols of spirits she recognized, but others were far more arcane than her knowledge allowed her to identify. Her eyes narrowed. _"Rescued by Heemkaal?"_

"_Yes. I was ambushed by Dalish. They don't like intruders."_

"_They do not. You speak the truth, Heemkaal."_

_Shrya sighed. "Then I shall live?"_

But the old woman shrugged unexpectedly, as though she was unsure of what the future would hold for Shrya. _"It is not for me to say. This one must decide her own fate."_

"_I mu- what?!" _

The old woman smiled cryptically. _"A proof is needed that you are a friend. An Ithari." _She stood and paced to the center of the rounded tent, where a fire had been banked to preserve the coals for later. Now that she uncovered them, the heady scent of wood smoke and incense filled the air. She was a shaman, and had been using the fragrant fruit tree woods to fuel her fire. _"I know not of these Wardens, but I know Ithari. I cannot say the Wardens are honorable, but I can say the Ithari are. In my eyes and the Suranital's eyes you are Ithari."_

It sounded to Shrya as though there were inner-tribe politics at work. She never had the head for that kind of thing, she usually left that for Amiel, her fellow Grey Warden. His fair looks and calm nature made him perfect for that kind of thing. The nobility ate him up. She was adept at reading people, though, and now she could tell that she was to be used as the old woman's pawn. _"So I am Ithari."_

"_Good. That is good. This is what you say tonight"_

"_Is it?" _

"_yes."_

Another sigh. This woman had her own objectives and wouldn't share any of them. Shrya was simply to be a silent puppet, obediently dancing for the twitches of the Old Woman's fingers. She didn't like being used like that, but what could she do? Her weapons – even her clothes – were gone. She didn't have any idea where in the Wilds she was. The Suranital, she'd heard of them but never actually seen them. Their camp was nomadic, anyway, from the look of their tent. Chances were that even if she knew about their people she would still have no idea where she was. Her hands were tied.

"_You wear these." _The old woman tossed her a bundle of clothes as though she could read Shrya's mind. _"your weapons will return later." _

Well, that was something at least. She was still a Warden, was she not? With her weapons returned to her she had a slight chance of breaking free of these Chasind. It was strange, though, for them to return all her original effects. It wasn't often that they would see Heemkaal-made gear. _"Why?" _She asked, holding up the familiar smooth leather garments she'd worn on her mission following the darkspawn.

The old woman shrugged. _"Because they are yours. Unless this one would rather be naked…" _Her chuckle sounded as rich as a breeze through an ancient tree. _"I am sure our men would appreciate that."_

Shrya shook her head. _"I'm sure they wouldn't." _She gestured at her lack of curves, her small boyish body. Generally, no one even spared her an interested glance. It made things easier, in a way, because she didn't have to worry about that kind of thing.

But again, a noncommittal response from her companion. _"Woman is woman is woman. Same purpose, same heart. Ithari women are strong, yes, but small and passionate. This we know."_

She had never been described as passionate. Never having made love, she wasn't sure she knew how to be passionate.

Seeing the confusion on her face made the old woman laugh again. "_Not that kind of passion. I mean the fire inside the pit of your heart. Through Ithari women, it spreads. It infects her whole body, giving her courage and power."_

Ah, well, it was true her people were very driven. This fire that the shaman spoke of was more a thing of willpower than passion. _"You know much about my people, but…I have never…." _Her voice trailed off, unsure of how to proceed without seeming rude.

"_Suranital are aaancient friends of Ithari. We are stagnant and keep old ways. Ithari move quickly through their lives and don't remember so much the old times. It does not surprise me." _

Shrya felt shamed somehow. She knew that of all the Chasind, the Itheri were not concerned with preserving history. Innovation and evolution were their main focus. Just as the sea changed, so too did the Itheri. _"Ah, I see." _She pulled on the clothing, re-adjusting them to her body. She hadn't realized how much weight she'd been losing during this outing, and as she tied the leather straps tightly she noted that a lot more of the strap was left after making a knot.

The woman allowed her some time to collect herself, but once she seemed relaxed enough the woman called her to attention. _"It is time. Are you ready?"_

She doubted that the woman really cared about whether she was prepared or not, because she had crossed to the tent's opening and already begun to unfasten the wooden toggles holding it shut. Outside, a small crowd of Chasind tribesmen were waiting, arms crossed and faces scowling. Obviously, they'd heard about the Heemkaal woman who had been discovered over the body of a dead trader. Things looked bad, Shrya realized. Most of them probably assumed that she had killed and dismembered the man herself. Only the power of the Shaman – the old woman who had taken her in – was responsible for keeping her alive.

Little did that matter now, though, because the Shaman had something planned for her. Something decidedly unpleasant.


End file.
